Marred
by shiningbrood
Summary: Broken, bruised, and bloody. That's how he liked to see his man. Sometimes, he thinks he should stop hanging around Lussuria. TYL 3380, 8033 Yamamoto/Ryohei.
1. Eye of the Beholder

**Disclaimer: **I do not own KHR.

**Chapter 1: Eye of the Beholder**

Lately, Yamamoto noticed, he was starting to see the beauty behind a lot of things. At first, it was just some small things, like the sunrise and sunset, or the little peonies blooming in the middle of spring, or the way the waves hit the shoreline. Maybe it was the way nature seemed to smile at you, even when you thought everything was dark and rainy, that he found beautiful. It was like nature had a rough plan laid out, with a disorganized time table for everything to happen. Despite all of its savage, haphazard organization, it was beautiful. And so he responded in his own beautiful way; he smiled.

This notion of beauty had quickly grown to encompass the little things people did. Things like the hot cup of tea Yamamoto found placed neatly on his desk when he first stepped into his office, or the way Hibari walked around the mansion on his feather-light feet, or even the way Gokudera would sour his expression just the tiniest bit when he noticed Kyoko's thumbnail-sized reminders stuck on every corner of Tsuna's desk; they were all beautiful in their own way. The way you could see their bonds was glorious, magnificent. The pain, the hurt, the love, the unity; all of it together made for a beautiful portrait. And just as always, he would smile.

Yamamoto, however, did not expect this sort of appreciation for everything to continue to further expand. He supposed he'd been spending too much time with the Varia, lately. Maybe more specifically, Lussuria, since he was the only one in the team willing to sit down and talk. The man would call it their own little tea party, gushing about the latest scandal or rumor or _something_. At some point, Yamamoto had even picked up a rumor about his "sinful trysts" with a certain flamboyant man. Of course, a few carefully placed cold smiles and "absentmindedly" brandished katanas later, that soon ended. Regardless, he didn't expect to discover the beauty in so many different things so quickly, and the world just seemed to be getting better and better.

Yamamoto couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face as he stood in the shadows of the corner of the room. The setting sun had flushed the ornate castle with a deep orange hue, casting large, ominous shadows through the room. The man before him was pacing back and forth nervously, stopping every so often to look outside the room, jumping every so often at the loud booms and bangs coming from outside the castle, taking no notice of the dark-haired man. He was fairly young, probably not more than five years older than Yamamoto himself, was decently built, had strong, bold features, and a crisp, clean suit.

He was, in a word, quite beautiful.

And at this realization, Yamamoto couldn't help but smile just a little bit wider and lick his lips. He could feel himself salivating in anticipation, imagining the look of pure shock soon to paint the poor man's face. At the next loud crack of what he assumed was the castle's outer wall being hammered, Yamamoto took a few quick strides towards the man, pulled a thin, strong line of wire from his sleeve, stepped behind him, and wrapped it around the unfortunate victim's neck before pulling it tight.

The man gasped and struggled with all his might, pulling and grasping and trying to break free. But it was a futile effort and Yamamoto was unrelenting, pulling the wire tighter with every little give of his throat, his arms managing the wire and one leg pushing against the man's back. After the initial struggle had subsided, the expected miserable, wordless attempt at begging for his life had occurred, quickly followed by the man's sudden limpness, as his body crumpled to the floor.

The assassin withdrew the wire and returned it to the little spool hidden on the inside of his suit jacket. In a quick movement, he had turned the dead man over on his back, staring at the man's face, his eyes running over his shoes, his pants, his shirt, and finally, to his face. It was contorted in pain, eyes blank and empty. The man must have started to cry in his last moments, his last tears running down his face before disappearing beneath his hair. His mouth was wide open, as if still trying to gulp down some precious air, frozen, with a thin line of saliva running down his chin and neck, which probably occurred when he'd started losing control of his senses. Yamamoto couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the sight.

It was beautiful.

The way the man's last moments were frozen in time, the way his thoughts and regrets were etched into his features, the stillness of it all; it was beautiful. What was beautiful in life, he surmised, must also be beautiful in death. And so he smiled again at the dead man before him, feeling the familiar warmth gathering in his gut, feeling the way his pants stretched tight against his groin. He let out one last, quick laugh in memory of the man, before turning away from the body and taking a deep breath to calm down.

He was at work. Getting a stiff one on the job was hardly professional. And with that thought, he left the room, making his way down the hall, smiling at the blood painted on the walls.

* * *

><p>A little bit of last-minute cleanup and an extra few minutes later, Yamamoto had found himself in front of the team leader of this job. He threw a lazy salute at the man and opened his mouth to speak before he felt his salivary glands start acting up again.<p>

The man was bruised and battered. The expensive suit that he had been wearing was torn apart, his muscular chest bared and the pant legs ripped and torn. He shifted his weight onto one leg, gingerly resting the other on the tip of his toes. There were cuts and bruises all over him, with a bigger gash across his chest, and what Yamamoto assumed were bullet wounds on his arms, his left hanging broken and limp. The man had opted to tie his necktie around his forehead for some reason he could not understand and noticed the numerous cuts and spots where it had begun to fray. His head had been bleeding, but it was, for the most part, stemmed. His silver hair was chopped unevenly and partly singed, he noticed, probably from some storm-element dying will flames.

He was beautiful, too.

"Glad you were here to help," he grunted, smiling, before grabbing the noticeably unharmed baseball player in a one-armed hug, and snapping him out of his stupor.

"Not a problem, Ryohei," he smiled, allowing the man to rest his weight on him a little too eagerly, not minding the way he felt the blood on his arm smear against his neck, "Things went well, as usual."

Yamamoto helped him to a group of medics and healers, resting him against a piece of wall that had landed there. He left him there before things started getting out of hand, before he would be roped into the post-combat cleanup, and, more importantly, before anyone noticed the awkward tenting of his pants and the flush of his cheeks.

Once he was far enough for no one to be able to notice him, he paused, staring at a trail of his friend's blood on his hand. He recalled the way Ryohei had looked in the dying sunlight, the way his broken body had looked, the way the blood ran down his face and arms, and that rough, boyish smile on his face. The images were so strong, so vivid, so fresh in his mind, and all he could do was smile and grin and chuckle to himself, before he licked his hand clean, savoring the taste of his friend's coppery blood.

He smiled.

It was troubling, but he had to agree with Lussuria. Ryohei _did_ look absolutely sexy when his body was broken and bruised.

* * *

><p><strong>END<strong>

So, I'm back! I had a bit of a brainchild, I suppose, so this is what I'll be working on for now. I don't know what quite got me thinking about this, probably that line where Reborn says Yamamoto is a natural-born hitman or something, but here it is! It's a bit twisted and perverse, but I swear, I think I've got something.

Not sure if I want this to be an actual story with plot and continuity, but meh, we'll see how it goes. As usual, please read, review, and leave me any comments (or prompts! I like prompts!) you feel are necessary!


	2. Second Opinion

**Disclaimer: **I do not own KHR.

**Chapter 2: Second Opinion**

It had been two days since Yamamoto and Ryohei had arrived back at the Vongola main mansion. Two days of signing papers, writing reports, collaborating with each other on their impact statements, and trying to find any and every excuse they could to take a break. They sat together in the hitman's office, filling out the forms, discussing what would go in the "methods for improvement" section on one, tallying up the gains of the expedition in another, and wracking their brains to answer the question of which one of their creditors was going to be paying for all of this.

And yet, with so little free time to themselves, Yamamoto found his mind wandering to that last day of fighting, remembering each and every gory scene he had witnessed. He'd been flown in from his vacation at the last minute to sneak in and eliminate the culprit of some recent weapons heists. Of course he complained in his own way, but when Tsuna pulled the "duties of the Vongola Rain Guardian and member of Varia" cards, well, what could he say?

So now the man was stuck with the grotesque, yet strangely pornographic images of the blood and carnage looping through his head, while working closely with one of the stars of his fantasies. Yamamoto just couldn't help that nagging at the back of his head to just take a peak, just a quick peak, at the other man, to stop for just a second to relive how Ryohei felt when he leaned his worn body against him, and instead of waking the poor guy up when he fell asleep, to slip his clothes and bandages off and take a good, long look at the wounds and scars he knew were there. He figured it would be best to just let his mind do the undressing.

The thought of his _extreme_ (he laughed at this) companion slowly stripping in front of him on his desk, slowly unraveling the bandages around his waist, arms, and head to reveal his swollen, bruised body was just so _tantalizing_. That suggestive smile on his face, the way the Ryohei in his mind would rake his hand through his freshly cut hair, blurting out some absurd comment about extremes that he thought was sexy had just been getting too much for him to bear.

Yamamoto figured he should talk to somebody before he jumped the guy.

And so the hitman found himself twiddling his thumbs in a waiting room, staring at the pretty white walls, the beige carpet, and the cute purple cushions of the other waiting room chairs, while leisurely thinking about his injured friend and willing his manhood to calm down because he was supposed to be seeing someone soon and how on Earth could he stand and give her a hug when he just felt so god damn _horny_?

After a few more minutes of waiting, he heard the office door at the end of the hall open and saw a man walk out on crutches, tossing a smile behind him, and heading out the door as a woman followed after him into the waiting room. She stopped for a moment and exchanged a few quick words with her secretary, before dismissing her and calling Yamamoto's name.

"Yamamoto Takeshi," she said, smiling before skipping over to him and giving him a hug before starting to walk back down the hallway, "Come on in and close the door behind you."

He smiled and hugged back before silently following her into her office. It was wide and spacious, the wall facing outside replaced entirely with glass and a couch placed by it. At the end of the couch, perpendicular to it, was a comfy looking daybed. In the far corner of the room sat a desk with a computer on it, picture frames littering the flat surface, and a mug labeled "MOST ENTHUSIASTIC 2011" stamped across it.

"So," she started, sitting down at the edge of the couch and indicating that he should sit on the daybed, "it's not often that I get to see you during work hours, Takeshi. What's wrong?"

"Well, someone has to validate your spot here, Haru," he joked, earning him a soft "Hahi!" and swift punch to the arm, "And does there have to be something wrong in order for me to visit a good friend?"

"Well! When a mystical power ranger with control of the rain schedules at the very last moment the very last possible timeslot of the day with a big "EMERGENCY" written on it in bright red marker, thoroughly wasting an entire page of Stella's planner, just how could I say no?" Haru exaggerated, giving him a pointed look when he pasted a big, fat smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, Haru," he smiled, "But my mystical power communicator broke again and I had to run all the way here from the second floor before you left for the day!"

"First, you mean hacked to bits," she sighed, frowning softly at him, "And secondly, there are only a good sixty or so phones in this mansion. You could've called. In any case, you never answered my question. What's wrong, Takeshi? Is everything okay? Remember, Haru's always here to help, or at the very least, listen."

He noticed the small tug at her lips as she said that last line, frown deepening just the tiniest bit. She was right. She would always be there, despite the fact that everyone else was busying running off to god knows where, picking up the broken pieces of mafia men and women. Her week must have been especially busy, considering the miniature war they had just raised, always watching the people close to her getting hurt as she tried to pick them all back up.

At Yamamoto's sudden silence, Haru opened her mouth to speak again, before deciding against it and allowed the man across from her to start, instead. Close friend he may be, but a patient was still a patient. So he started with the better news, telling her that someone had been on his mind, lately, who that someone was, and laughed and smiled when the girl across from him let herself get carried away, screaming "Oh my god! Oh my god it's like a bad yaoi but it's _real _and it's _you_!" and continued to blabber on for a few minutes about the surrealism of it all, while jabbing his arm and slapping him on the back every so often.

And as soon as the black-haired woman started, she stopped, regaining her composure and urging him to be out with what's wrong about it all. And then Yamamoto told her, smiling when she smiled at the bit about how he noticed that everything was more and more beautiful, kept smiling as her expression began drooping just a bit when he talked about the way he noticed all those little interactions between everyone, and smiled still when her eyes widened in surprise when he told her about the absolutely delicious way Ryohei looked when blood was dripping from his arms, head, and chest.

"Pretty messed up, right?" he chuckled, "Maybe Gokudera was right when he used to make fun of me all those years ago, maybe I am some weird alien from another planet."

Haru frowned a bit more, eyebrows furrowed, her eyes closed in thought. It wasn't that she was surprised he picked up some sort of twisted thinking; it was specifically what that line of thinking was. Admittedly, from the moment she heard Reborn claim he was a natural-born hitman, she had worried that, of all their friends, he was most likely to enjoy the act of killing. She just got that kind of feeling. Yamamoto, in her opinion, had always seemed to walk on that fine line of sanity. Was it that he had a strong personality or force of will that he could always smile at every occasion, no matter how painful? Or was it that he was thrilled at the aspect of the challenge? Or worse yet, what if he enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering and terrorizing other people?

In some sick, twisted manner, though, his confession relieved her. He didn't say he liked killing. He didn't say he wanted to do it. All he said was that there was a certain kind of beauty in suffering and death. Ancient philosophers have said it, artists had created images of it; it was nothing new.

"First of all," she said, one hand to her chin, "Gokudera doesn't count. You should know by now, he's just a big meanie, but he means well. Occasionally. If you squint."

She paused, taking a deep breath and staring the baseball player in the eyes. Haru was, in his opinion, clearly afraid of what his next response would be to whatever she had to ask.

"Do you _enjoy_ hurting other people?" she asked, "Do you like the idea of someone stabbing or strangling or shooting someone else?"

He hadn't even considered the thought. The smile dropped from his face as he stared at her before dumbly examining his hands as the small woman before him waited for a response. They sat in an uncomfortable silence, tense and anxious, as he was unsure of what to say. She stood up and walked over to her desk and pulled out an expensive-looking fountain pen from one of the drawers when she received nothing but silence. She held the point to her neck.

"If I stabbed myself right here," she said flatly, applying a minute amount of pressure to her neck, "Would that make you happy?"

"Of course not!" he blurted out furiously, standing up, his fists clenched, face burning, scowling angrily at her, "I would never—!"

"Alright. If you watched me plunge the pen into Ryohei's neck and slowly drag it down, down, down his neck. If I pulled it out, before bringing it back down on his chest, slowly carving your name in it, before going further down his body—"

"No."

"And pop! I peel his left nipple right off. And he's smiling and I'm smiling and then look, his belly button is just perfectly—"

"Stop."

"—placed, with the right shape and everything, you know what I mean? And so I think I'll just—"

"Just _shut up_!" he shouted angrily, holding his head in his hands, eyes screwed shut, trying not to imagine the scene she had been describing, terrified.

He heard her sigh in relief, before dropping the pen back down on her desk with a clatter. She heard her walking towards him, her dress shoes padding softly on the carpet, before she placed her hand on his arm and coaxed him into lying on the daybed.

She took her place on the couch beside it, saying nothing as he struggled to clear his mind again, observing him. They stayed there for awhile, five minutes, ten minutes, an hour, he wasn't sure, but the ache between his legs was embarrassing and probably clearly visible and he couldn't stop the scene in his head.

"Takeshi," she said, bringing him back to reality, "It's good that you came by."

"I'm not so sure about that," he mumbled, refusing to meet her eyes.

"No, we've made progress," Haru replied, watching as he sat up to look at her, "Even if you can't see it."

Yamamoto's look of doubt urged her to continue on.

"Okay, okay. You don't believe me," she said, "So can you tell me why you got angry, just before?"

"Because it—you were—it's," he stuttered, trying to find the words, frowning at himself, "You're my friend. So it hurts when something bad happens to you. Or Ryohei. Can I still call him my friend? But—"

"That's good enough," Haru smiled, before standing and offering him her hand, "You don't have to figure out everything in one day. I would be out of a job if everyone did that."

Yamamoto allowed himself to be led out the door, still thinking hard, barely listening to her as she fired off suggestions, do's, don'ts, and penciling him in for next Thursday. Haru grabbed her things on the way out and locked the door behind them.

"Haru," he said, "Thanks. I think. I guess I owe you lunch."

"You sure do," she pouted playfully, before the two hugged goodbye and started walking in different directions.

"Hahi!" he heard down the hall, and turned to face her as he heard her shoes clicking against the floor as she ran back towards him, "Wait wait! We don't pay for lunch here!"

He laughed, shook his head, and sprinted down the hall before she could catch him.

* * *

><p><strong>END<strong>

So, this is the next chapter~ Lemme' know what you guys think and, as usual, leave any suggestions or prompts you might have.


	3. Tease

******Disclaimer:** I do not own KHR.

**Lemon (sort of?) Warning**

**Chapter 3: Tease**

Ryohei lumbered into his room tiredly, kicking his shoes off and sending them into the wall with a thud, his sister frowning at him from behind before chiding him about the walls and his shoes and his room, carrying a medical bag in with her. Because honestly, he was a grown man and shouldn't be throwing his stuff everywhere and maybe then he wouldn't have to buy a new pair of expensive leather shoes every other week because he'd be able to find them and if he decided to get back into the dating game, he should really find someone willing to do the housework because there was no way Kyoko was going to let her nieces and nephews grow up in a pigsty.

They were amusing, Yamamoto thought, poking his head in and smiling at the scene, a stack of forms in his hand. He laughed silently to himself as the woman wagged a finger at her brother, who had decided to bury his head under his pillow and scream nonsensically to block out her voice. After another minute or two of both parties steadily increasing their volume, Kyoko took her bag of bandages, ointments, and antiseptics and slammed it into her unsuspecting patient's back, earning her a pained yelp and the beginnings of a lecture on her extremely poor behavior towards her extremely injured brother. With a huff and a sigh, she flipped her _extremely_ aggravating brother back onto his chest and tore his pants off quite literally, the belt still hanging around his waist.

Now _that's_ what Yamamoto was talking about.

He silently leaned to the side, arm against the doorframe, Cheshire smile planted on his face, with neither Ryohei nor his sister noticing his presence. He watched as the man on the bed toed his socks off, shoulders sagging in defeat, as his calves pulled and moved, twitching ever so slightly when he had stretched just a little too much for the slowly healing lacerations across his legs, hidden beneath the bandages. He ignored the man's grumbles to his sister, too intent on getting a glimpse of the soft, wounded flesh as Kyoko unraveled the bandages around his legs. The man whined at her as she finished wrapping fresh bandages around the cuts and scrapes on his lower legs and moved up to undo the bandage around his right upper thigh.

Yamamoto suppressed a moan as he watched her fingers dive dangerously close to Ryohei's crotch, much to the injured man's protests, earning him a well-placed slap on a freshly bandaged injury. He wondered what it would feel like to run his own hands across the sensitive skin, there, and couldn't help but lick his lips as his gaze fell across the man's ass, the bright red fabric clinging teasingly to his skin. If Yamamoto's smile could stretch even wider, it would have, as Ryohei shifted uncomfortably at having his own sister working so closely to his parts, his rump moving and legs parting just enough to for Yamamoto to see the slight bulge where his testicles lay.

Kyoko tugged at the boxer's shirt sharply, indicating that if he wasn't going to take it off, then it would get the same treatment as his pants. The silver-haired man complied—albeit grudgingly—sitting up, before his nurse began undoing the bandages across his chest and back. Yamamoto had to suppress yet another moan as his eyes fell upon the cuts, scars, slashes, and bullet wounds running across his back. He leaned his back against the doorframe, one hand covering half his face, the other pressing softly between his legs, smiling from pure pleasure as he watched Ryohei's back twitch softly as Kyoko poked him in the back for a response to whatever mundane question she had asked.

As the final bandage was half-wrapped, the Rain Guardian pulled himself together. It was time to leave before he got caught. He padded silently out of the room, back to his office, as his mind wandered back to the other man, lying in bed, half naked, fingers tugging at the elastic band of his und—

A knock on his open door pulled him out of his thoughts. Kyoko waltzed into his office, a knowing look in her eye that spelled his impending doom.

"You know, Yamamoto," she said, smiling sweetly at him with her hands behind her back, "You can just knock, next time."

He was sure that his face was on fire, the guilt and embarrassment just absolutely pouring out of his face. The hitman stared at her for a moment, speechless, trying to think of something to say, before she giggled at him.

"I'm heading back to Japan, tonight, to visit my parents," she continued, rocking on her heels, before bringing her hands to the front and dropping the familiar medical bag on the floor, next to the door, "And my brother needs his bandages changed every other day."

Yamamoto stared at her, face burning hotter, as she smiled sweetly at him and left the room.

He couldn't wipe the smile off his face.

* * *

><p>The next day had passed all too quickly for both men. The paperwork had begun clearing up and Tsuna's departure meant that Gokudera had essentially assumed control of every detail of every project in progress, which ultimately meant that he was entirely too distrusting of both sportsmen's ability to read a piece of paper and decided they would all be better off if he left them without any work to do. The end of the day came and went quickly, before another pleasant, leisurely day of work had arrived.<p>

Sort of.

Ryohei was entirely too nervous as he walked towards his room with his baseball-crazy friend. All Yamamoto had to do was help him change his bandages since he couldn't quite stretch around his back very well to do it himself. He was hurt and needed help, plain and simple. In fact, there was absolutely no reason for him to feel jittery. They were men, after all, and had gone through thick and thin together, along with the rest of the Vongola guardians. And Yamamoto was a good guy. He certainly wouldn't hammer a bag full of stuff into his back, unlike someone else he knew. And it wasn't like Ryohei was body shy. Hell, he'd even showered with the man during high school. Whatever he had to show off before, he'd already done so in the past. But not in that way. Well, it could have been that way if you thought about it, but Ryohei never was one to think about things for very long.

Still, the silver-haired man couldn't shake off this uneasiness he felt. In fact, Ryohei thought he was going a little crazy. Ever since they'd flown back from that last battlefield, he felt there was something a little bit off with his friend. Sometimes, the guy would just sort of stare off into space with a wicked smile. Other times, he thought he heard him laughing to himself. And today, he was definitely sure that he had not imagined that he had caught Yamamoto staring at him with a feral grin and lick his lips meaningfully.

But no, Ryohei thought, he was just going crazy. Those painkillers must have some extreme side effects or something to make even him feel a little anxious. Shrugging once more in an attempt to relieve him of the unsettling feeling, he opened the door to his room and kicked off his shoes as always, hoping Yamamoto did not catch the sudden stiffening of his back when he heard the door click behind him.

"Alright, just take your clothes off while I get this stuff out," he said, unzipping the medical kit and smiling at him as usual.

Nothing strange or out of the ordinary, there. It was just Yamamoto being Yamamoto. So he complied, wiggling out of his black suit jacket, undoing his tie, and unbuttoning his white dress shirt, leaving them in a heap on the floor as he took a seat at the edge of the bed.

"Ah, your pants, too, Ryohei," he said, examining a bunch of different jars, looking for the one he was instructed to use.

Ryohei paused for a moment before deciding that there could be no harm done. Maybe the other man just wanted to take a good look at the number of bandages and their placement or something so he knew what he was getting into. He unbuckled his belt and laid his back on the bed, pulling his pants and socks off before throwing them into the pile of other clothes, sitting nervously on his bed clad in nothing but his black briefs.

Yamamoto pulled a pair of scissors out of the bag, leaving the rest of the contents spilled in a hopelessly disorganized mess, and walked over to him, smiling still. And that was normal, too, except that Ryohei couldn't help but nervously gaze at the scissors held firmly, blade down, trying not to think of how menacing the man looked.

"Hold on a second," the black-haired man said, bending over and reaching his arms around him, one thumb hooked underneath the bandages around his mid-section. Their heads were side by side as he snipped at each of the bandages, close enough for Ryohei to feel his breath tickling his ear and the blood to start rushing to his face. He shifted slightly in discomfort, giving the other man better access to the bandages running diagonally across his chest and back, before letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when Yamamoto had pulled back with the old, somewhat smelly bandages.

"Aw, man, you're gonna hurt my feelings like that," Yamamoto laughed, throwing the used bandages into the trash can before turning back to the man and scratching at the back of his head. He bent down at the foot of the bed in front of Ryohei, running a thumb down the contours of the muscle on his right calf, and pulled slightly at the bandages wrapped around the leg.

"Wa-wait a second," Ryohei stuttered, fighting the blush on his face, "Aren't you going to wrap me up top over here first, Takeshi?"

"Oh, no," he laughed, shaking his head, "I want to see how bad it all is, first."

He quickly snipped the bandages off on both lower legs, before placing his free hand on the injured man's right thigh, just above his knee. He moved it up his leg to the bandage at the uppermost part of his leg, thumbnail breezing over his skin, which earned him a soft moan and shudder as he pressed the blunt edge of the scissor against his inner thigh. Yamamoto laughed again, bringing his head close enough for his hair to tickle the man's stomach so that he could get a better look at the bandage, breathing softly on the sensitive skin, before snipping through the white fabric of the bandages.

Ryohei groaned, before slapping a hand to his mouth, ashamed at the way his hard penis pressed against the fabric of his underwear. It just felt so _extremely_ good. But it was embarrassing and crude and wrong. He pulled his hand away from his face and opened his mouth to apologize, before he felt a wet plop hit the sore, healing muscle.

"Ah, heh, sorry about that," Yamamoto said, head still between his legs, wiping a hand across his mouth and grinning predatorily up at him, "But since you don't seem to mind—"

He licked the wound slowly, hands running over Ryohei's legs, and followed it up with kisses across his inner thighs, delighted by the moans Ryohei made, positively ecstatic at the hiss of both pain and pleasure when he bit into the wounded the flesh. Yamamoto placed his hands on Ryohei's hips, nipping at the skin just beneath his black briefs. The boxer let himself fall flat against the bed as the other moved his lips over his groin, sucking on his testicles through the fabric. He groaned loudly, placing his hands on Yamamoto's head, massaging his scalp, gasping softly when he felt sharp bites against the skin just above the elastic waistband of his briefs.

Yamamoto groaned, kissing his naval with a smile while pulling the offending article of clothing down. He made a trial of kisses down towards his penis, sucking and licking there, listening to the glorious sounds Ryohei had continued to make. He licked his patient's length slowly, smiling up at him, before taking it into his mouth as far as it could go before he gagged and tried to pull back, stopped by the other's hands on the back of his head. He let drifted his gaze back up and moaned, himself, when Ryohei flashed him his own ferocious smile and rolled his hips against Yamamoto's mouth. He tried to fight off the nervous spasms of his throat for awhile, before quickly deciding it would be impossible, wrenched the other's hands from his head, and pulled back. He paused for a quick breath, admiring the way Ryohei's chest heaved, muscles pulling, bruised, swollen lacerations moving apart and coming together.

"Get over here, Takeshi," the boxer growled, grabbing him by his wrists and scooting further up the bed, pulling him along. Yamamoto was only too happy to comply, bringing his lips down upon the man he admired. Ryohei wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer as their tongues went to work against each other. After a minute or two of their breathless battle their mouths were fighting, he pushed Yamamoto onto his side and threw a leg over his, granting him an advantage, before moaning disappointedly when Yamamoto broke their kiss, finding his jawline, neck, and chest much more appealing.

Yamamoto wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him and made him do what he did next. It could have been the way Ryohei had been moaning his name, or the way Ryohei's hand had snaked its way beneath his pants and gripped his ass, or it could have been the vulnerablelook on his face as he made his way down ever lower, but he wasn't sure. While biting and kissing his way down Ryohei's chest, he had a sudden, vicious thought: wouldn't it be just absolutely, positively, _extremely_, one thousand times hotter with just a bit of extra color to that flesh?

Yamamoto bit down harshly on one of his particularly nastier wounds, blood oozing out as he broke the skin. Not entirely satisfied, he dragged his canines across the damaged flesh, causing Ryohei to arch is back and scream incoherently. Pulling back, he licked his lips, savoring the blood left behind there, and ran his fingers through the liquid that had begun flowing, raking thick lines of red across his chest, chuckling to himself.

"Oh, baby," he laughed, smiling angelically, licking one of his bloodied fingers, "I just—"

Ryohei, too, wasn't entirely sure what made him do it, but he sat up quickly and smashed the back of his left fist against the blood-crazed man's face, hitting him square on the eye, knocking him off the bed. He rolled off the bed, flustered, and pulled a shirt from the pile of clothes, clutching it to the open wound, before turning around to face the other man. Yamamoto laid there on the floor, dazed, not entirely sure what happened, staring straight back at him, then broke out into a smile and a laugh and held a hand to his quickly-swelling eye.

"I-I, uh," Ryohei stammered, unsure of what to say, his side aching as the blood stained his shirt, "Sor—no, extre—Fuck."

"If only," Yamamoto gasped, laughing uncontrollably, curling on his side and facing him, "If only we did!"

He stood up from the floor, still laughing as he stumbled over to the medical kit. Picking up a fresh roll of bandages and some antiseptic, he walked back over to the other man who had pulled up his underwear and lay on the bed trying to ignore his manic laughter, contemplating their recent events. The hitman continued his original job, laughing to himself, unbottling the antiseptic, dipping a cotton ball in it, patting it against his cuts, and wrapping him up.

Yamamoto asked him a bunch of questions, none with any real purpose, only to be met with silence. But he didn't really care. It didn't really matter. He was still there, finished tending to his wounds, talking about nothing in particular. He had Ryohei sitting up and leaning back against him, still deep in thought, as he smiled and laughed and rambled, softly nipping at his neck from time to time.

"I think you should go," Ryohei finally said, disentangling himself. And Yamamoto did.

But that was okay. Because they'd touched and felt and (nearly) made love. Because he'd gotten to taste and suck and bite him. Because he'd been able to see Ryohei all hot and horny and _bloody_.

Which might, if he thought about it, was reason to worry. But even _that_ was okay.

Because tomorrow was Thursday.

Everything would make sense on Thursday.

* * *

><p><strong>END<strong>

****Okay, so. I was resisting the urge to just shamelessly write smexy times and it didn't go so well. Also, I wasn't entirely sure if I should have split up the first and second parts. Was the first even really necessary? I'm not even sure, but it's almost 4AM and it might have been a bad idea to write it up at this hour XD

I will consider this section for heavy revision.

Thanks for the reviews! Except for you guys, Kio and Dazzley. YOU GUYS DON'T COUNT because you're RL friends and this is just too entirely shameful and you're never going to let me live it down because I have a high standard on morals ;_;


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